Midnight pilots the mind to miracles
or mirages. Thought lies anchored
with its crew at rest and no lookout
to warn of the interloper boarding
from the longboat: madness needs
no moonlight, stealths its way to
the wheelhouse, grapples every degree
of wind, every tackle of tide, sounds
every watch with leaden tongue,
marks every depth beyond despair,
resounds its victory in every quarter,
giving none.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Midnight pilots the mind to miracles or mirages although we imagine still we feel it in reality and dream. Its generous victory is vividly witnessed. This poem is very interestingly and excellently penned. An amazing poem is shared with wonderful note. Thank you very much for sharing this...10